Miscommunication
by NarcissisticRiceBall
Summary: TF2 Story. Oneshots. Really now, how good do you think nine sadistic, convoluted, and eccentric individuals grouped together can communicate? Chap. 5: Boomerang You
1. Sandvich

It was a good day. Today, there was no fight. He was free to do what he wanted. What was it he wanted to do? Eat a damn good sandwich, that is what he wanted to do.

A large man lumbered slowly over to the simple refrigerator in the corner of the kitchen. As he approached, he rubbed his hands together eagerly. If memory served him right, there should still be one left over. With a happy chuckle, he opened the door and peered inside. There was almost a squeal of delight when his eyes landed on the single plate sitting next to a pack of beers. Reaching in, he gently pulled out the plate as if it would break at the slightest touch and kicked the door shut as he walked over to the small breakfast table pushed against the nearby wall. With extra care, he placed the plate down and was about to sit, but paused as he pulled out the chair. He looked thoughtfully to the ceiling for a moment before striding over to the refrigerator again and pulling out one of the bottles of beer. Not even bothering with a bottle opener, he grabbed the edge of the cap with his teeth and jerked his head to the side. The cap came off with a loud pop. He spit the cap into the garbage can and finally took a seat in front of his desire.

Sitting on the plate was a sandwich. Two slices of buttery white bread, crisp lettuce, fresh tomato, and an unidentifiable meat, of which he could care less about what it was. To make it even better, it was cut in half, and not just any cut in half, but diagonally cut in half. Then, to top off both slices, were the olives. They were not just any olives, they were green olives; the only kind of acceptable olive to be skewered into a sandwich.

After admiring it for a few moments, the man picked up one half and put it into his mouth. He could not help the giant, satisfied grin as he happily munched on his sandwich. He was about to take another bite when there was the rapid patter of light footsteps heading his direction. With a sigh, he had a feeling who would be popping in shortly.

"Yo, Heavy!"

Heavy did not bother to hide his deep sigh. There went his peaceful day of sandwich eating. The people he now lived with did not often allow him the luxury of simply eating in peace. They had met not too long ago, and when they were not fighting against the rival team, they were forced to live together. None of them even knew each other's real names. They were known only by their class. Needless to say, some were better company than others.

"Shit, how many of those have ya eaten?"

The intruder did not slow down until he was at the refrigerator. Heavy tried to ignore him and continue eating, but of course, failed. He glanced over his shoulder to see the newcomer with a bottle of beer in hand going through the drawers. By far, the most annoying one in his opinion was the Scout. Not only was he some brat, he was noisy, rude, and was always moving or twitching. He never kept still for long. Plus, Heavy had "accidentally" been on the receiving end of Scout's metal baseball bat. But the worst thing, the most horrid of actions the little punk could do, was steal his sandwich. On more than one occasion did he find his sandwich missing. Once, he could have sworn he had it in his hand, but when he tried to take a bite, nothing was there and the Scout was off to the side looking all smug eating HIS sandwich.

"Better lay off those or yer gonna wind up even fatter."

There was a chuckle from the Scout. He knew he was pushing it, but then, what else was there to do when he was trapped with a bunch of misshapen freaks? Dire consequences could be the result of his pestering, but there was nothing else for him to do. Besides, like Heavy would be able to catch him. With long limbs and trained in running, Scout was confident he could dodge and outrun Heavy, should the man decide to respond in violence. With this group, that was most likely the case. Sure, he had a bit of a violent streak in him, but some of the people he met here, well, they were pushing it. Soldier was the worst. Of course, Scout was not too sure about the Medic either. For being in the medical profession, he was overly eager to inflict pain. He said it was for research. Scout knew it was all filth and lies. Who was he kidding, they all loved to kill and blow things up; they worked perfectly together. However, that did not mean they could always get along off the battlefield.

"I am not fat. Am just big-boned."

Scout was surprised. He was positive the Heavy Weapons Guy would be screaming and coming at him by now. However, his surprised turned to amusement as he watched the Heavy attempt to ignore him. Those sandwiches must put him in a pretty good mood; that, or Medic puts something in them. Either way, he was bored and he had a target.

"Big-boned my ass. Yer just fat. What, with all those sandwiches ya eat."

"The sammich is not making me fat!"

Now it was Heavy's turn to be surprised. Instead of some smart-ass remark, the Scout just stood there a moment looking at him like he grew another head.

"W-what the hell? A-a sammich? Did you just frickin' say 'sammich'?! A sammich, you?"

Scout was incredulous while Heavy was suspicious. Heavy did not know why there was a sudden change in attitude. What was so odd about what he said? Scout leaned forward and pointed at the sandwich.

"Sandwich."

Heavy looked down at his sandwich and became very confused at the sudden turn of events.

"Da. Sammich."

"No. San-duh-witch."

Scout made sure to emphasize the "d" found in sandwich. There was no particular reason why this was annoying him so much. Sure, most of the team had funky accents, but this, this was almost too much. It did not help that Heavy was staring at him with the most blank expression on the face of the earth. He kept looking down at his sandwich, then at Scout, then back to his sandwich. His mouth hung open as he struggled to figure out what was going on.

"Sandawich."

"Dammit, no! Sandwich, sandwich. Say it right!"

Why was the Scout getting so angry all of a sudden? He was just trying to mimic what he just heard. In his opinion, the Scout was acting like an idiot. He kept telling him "sandwich, sandwich." Yes, he knew he had a sandwich. What was the problem? Heavy was about to try saying "sandwich" again, but before he could, somebody else came stomping into the kitchen.

"Vhat is all ze racket?!"

Both the Heavy and Scout looked up at the newcomer. The Medic stood in front of the table with his hands on his hips. Looking over the brim of his small, round glasses, he scrutinized the scene before him. Not too long ago, he had been trying to look into his MediGun a little bit more, to take advantage of the down time, but was continually distracted by the sound of two annoyingly loud voices yelling about a food item.

When he entered the kitchen, he saw the Scout leaning forward and angrily pointing to the sandwich. Now the Heavy, just looked clueless. Medic had some pity for the man. He was large, but there was not a whole lot going on upside as far as he was concerned. Then again, at the moment, not even he knew what was going on.

"Dude, Medic, tell 'im what that is."

Scout somehow managed to close the distance between the two of them in an astounding time and was poking him in the arm with one hand while pointing to the sandwich with the other. From the first time he met the Scout, he pinned him as annoying, and lo and behold, it held true. Medic swatted the offending finger away and pushed the frames of his glasses a bit further up his nose.

"A sandvich."

"Gyaa! No! It's a freakin' sandwich!"

With a loud smack upside the Scout's head, the Medic was momentarily pleased with himself, but the feeling was soon replaced by annoyance and confusion.

"Ja. Sandvich. Zat's vhat I said, Dummkopf."

The urge to plug his ears was becoming increasingly stronger the longer he listened to the youngest member of their team continue to rant. He chanced a glance over at the Heavy who was slowly munching on his sandwich while watching the two of them curiously.

"Don't you 'dummkopf' me, ya four-eyed bitch! Say it right! Sandwich!"

Finally, he could not hold back any longer. The Medic yelled right back, only after hitting the Scout on top of the head with his fist of course.

"Ze only bitch I see here is you! And vhat are you going on about with the sandvich?! It's a damn sandvich, ve get it already!"

Ruefully rubbing the top of his head, the Scout readjusted his baseball cap with a huff and opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by another teammate.

"Bloody 'ell! Ah can hear ya all the way down in me room. What the hell's so special aboot the damn sandich?"

"Oh hell, not you too!"

The Demoman was surprised with the way the Scout's expression blanched and he was pointed at ever so rudely. The self-proclaimed "Black, Scottish, Cyclops" was not about to let anybody, let alone that squirrelly little brat, get away with pointing at him in one piece. However, before he was able to whip out one of his patented explosives, the Scout began yelling again.

"Sandwich. Why can't any of you yahoos get it right?!"

This was confusing. In being completely lost as to what was going on, Demoman forgot about blasting the Scout to high hell. Actually, everybody in the room thought Scout was being strange. He kept pointing aggressively to the sandwich and yelling out "sandwich." Yes, they knew what it was so they had no idea what the problem was.

"Good grief. What's with you blokes and all the noise over the sannie?"

For the briefest of moments, there was a thick, pregnant silence. All eyes turned to the Sniper. He cocked an eyebrow and scratched his head causing his hat to shift to the side a bit. This was a bit awkward for him. He had not been living with them for that long so Sniper was left to wonder what was going on. Surely, from the sounds of things, they did not know what was going on either? But, he was easy going and did not let it faze him. His profession was to shoot people in the head so there was not a whole lot that could unnerve him. Shrugging at their reaction, Sniper walked over to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of beer. When he looked over at the Scout again, there was a small twitch forming under his left eye. Suddenly, like cutting through the silence with his machete, the Scout resumed his very loud rant.

"Sannie? What, yer fedora on too tight or somethin'?!"

"Aw, no mate. This isn't a fedora. It's an akubra. It's got a wider brim since it's supposed to block the sun more and-"

"Okay, okay, akubra. Just...just go out and grill somethin' on the barbie, Koala Joe."

If it were any other person, he would have been offended at being interrupted in the middle of a cultural lecture, stereotyped, and racially named. However, being in the profession of patiently waiting to shoot somebody in the head, Sniper was not any other person. He was easy going and was not about to let the hyperactive kangaroo get to him. Besides, whatever they were yelling about, did not seem like something he should get himself sucked into. Actually, the idea of a barbecue was quite appealing.

"Well, not a bad idea. G'day mates!"

Briefly adjusting his pilot style sunglasses, the Sniper waved over his shoulder and walked towards the backyard. Maybe he could find the Pyro and save himself the time it took to light the grill. The others just watched him leave, only to replaced by said Pyro shortly thereafter.

"Mmmph, mmph?"

"Finally! Somebody who says it right!"

Scout threw his arms up in the air in exasperation and walked over to the Pyro. Grabbing his beer off the table, he took a large gulp before slamming the bottle down.

"Mmf mmf mpfm mmpf?"

He shot the Pyro an annoyed glare.

"Of course I'm old enough to drink! How old do ya people think I am?"

"Mm mmpf."

"Wha?! Ya crazy man?"

Demoman let out a frustrated growl and stormed over to one of the cupboards. He swung the doors open and noisily rummaged around until he pulled out a large bottle of whiskey. He yanked the cork out of the bottle and spit it out before taking large gulps. When he removed the bottle from his mouth, he let out a loud belch and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Ah can't take this no more. Ah'm goin' back to me room. Let me know when ya start makin' some sense. Bah!"

He stomped out of the kitchen leaving the others behind. Medic and Heavy were still watching the Scout with odd and curious looks on their faces. Finally, after some silence caused by the Demoman's departure, the Medic spoke.

"Vell, vell. Zat vas interesting. I still don't know vhat your talking about, but maybe you should get a check-up?"

As he said the final phrase, the Medic tugged on the edge of his rubber glove and let it go with a loud snap. Scout could have sworn an evil glint flashed across his glasses. It did not help that there was that sadistic spark in the Medic's eyes. He had seen it before. The Scout saw the same look when the good doctor was able to switch from his MediGun to his bone saw. Scout gulped and took a step back nervously.

"T-that's okay, Doc. Ya know what? Whatever. Enjoy yer 'sammich'. Let's go Pyro."

"Mmmpf mmpf!"

"Guitar practice? You play guitar? Ya know, when they say 'grindin' the axe,' they don't actually mean it literally, right?"

"Mmpf mmmf mmmpfmm!"

As they walked away the Scout held his hands up defensively.

"Okay, okay, sorry! Just checkin'. I mean, did ya hear those guys goin' on and on? Ya can't be too sure."

Medic watched them walk away and shook his head. How those two hit it off was beyond him. Then again, Pyro seemed to get along with everybody. That was nice. Until they were more used to each other, they would need somebody who was sane enough to get along with all the different characters. It was a sad day when the person who ran around in a gas mask, flame retardant coveralls, and toted around a blowtorch was considered the sane one.

Before he too took his leave, the Medic glanced over at the Heavy who was still munching on his sandwich. He was curious as to how the Heavy was able to resume activity as if the convoluted conversation had never happened. Truth be told, it was not that deep. Some point along the way, he just dropped out of the conversation completely clueless and went back to his meal. It was pointless for him to try and figure out what was going on, so, he decided to try his hardest to ignore the noise and concentrate on the wonderful explosion of flavor in his mouth. That seemed to do it because when he looked up again, the kitchen was empty except for the Medic who watched him with curiosity.

Swallowing the chunk of sandwich in his mouth, the Heavy grabbed the other half and held it out with a cheeky grin.

"Want a sandvitch, Doctor?"

* * *

**A/N:** My first TF2 story. This story was spawned in some sort of deep, dark abyss. No idea why I started thinking about it. You gotta admit, there would have to be some miscommunication somewhere along the way. I mean, four of them have accents, the medic was probably a nazi, and one of them makes muffled noises. Which reminds me, I don't know why Scout knows what he/she is saying. So, why, in the end, does Heavy give the Medic a cheeky grin and offer part of his precious sandwich? Why indeed... I blame my friend for that one. She love them. Oh right, this takes place at some undisclosed time period. In other words, no idea. Judging by how I wrote it, I would say it was shortly after the group was formed? Anyhoo, let me know what you all think. Thanks for reading, hope ya enjoyed, and peace out!


	2. Ich Bin Ein Ubermensch

Sometimes, it seemed like they never got a break. There was always some sort of skirmish they needed to fight, and win, of course. However, there were other times where they had absolutely nothing to do. Well, nothing productive, to do.

Medic was sitting calmly on the couch scribbling in a small notebook while Heavy sat in the adjacent couch munching happily on a sandwich. Long forgotten was the confusing sandwich talk with the Scout, even though the Medic pointed out it was barely a few days ago. Whether it was a few days or a few weeks, Heavy was currently a happy man.

The radio was on serving as background noise to the slow afternoon. After scribbling some notes down, the Medic stretched and looked towards the door leading to the others' rooms when he heard a racket growing louder and as always, the Scout was the first one he heard.

"No, I'm tellin' ya, that Nixon guy is bad news! Ain't nuthin' goin' right and he won't fix it."

"Mmph mmph, mmphmp."

"Ya got it all wrong pardner. We need a man who has proficient aptitude in the realm of polity."

Scout, Pyro, and Engineer entered the living room wrapped up in some sort of political conversation. Scout scratched his head and looked over at Pyro questioningly while jerking his thumb in the Engineer's direction.

"Did he actually say somethin'?'

The Pyro nodded.

"Mmshm mm mmp mp mmmps."

"Well why didn't he say so in the beginning?"

Engineer gently shook his head and sighed.

"I did say that. Yer jus' asinine."

"Hey, who ya callin' an ass?!"

Once more the Engineer shook his head and decided to ignore Scout. Clearly, the Scout lacked the mental capacity to keep up with him. Fast in the legs, slow in the mind. Engineer chuckled softly to himself and walked over to the Heavy. He scooted over a little bit to allow more space for the Engineer to sit.

"Much obliged."

He sat down with a plop and relaxed himself into the plush cushions. The Pyro also joined them though he sat down with the Medic who also absentmindedly moved himself a bit to the side while keeping his eyes glued on whatever he was writing about in the notebook.

"Yo, Pyro, Hard-Hat, ya wanna beer?"

"Mmph!"

"Sure thing."

It did not take any time at all before the Scout reappeared in the living room with two bottles of brew in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. As a general rule enforced by the Scout, the coffee must always be brewing. He gave the two bottles to Pyro and the Engineer before sitting down with his mug of caffeine. Without much care for anybody else, Scout plopped down with a bounce right in between Medic and Pyro. The sudden movement caused the Medic's pen to jerk to the side resulting in an annoyed Medic. He snapped the notebook shut and then whapped it as hard as he could on top of Scout's head. He found that it made a very satisfying thump.

"Hold still, you hyperactive dummkopf!"

"What the hell, man?! Don't go hittin' me with yer little black book of evil."

"Eh?"

As was most often the case on their free time, Medic had no idea what was going on whenever the Scout talked. English was not his first language and the damn nuisance talked a mile a minute. In addition, he had that peculiar accent making it all the more difficult to quickly pick up on. At least the Engineer spoke slowly so his accent was not a major impediment to the understanding of the English language.

"Vhat are you going on about?...You mean zis?" Medic held his notebook up and glared questioningly at Scout who nodded angrily. "Zis is not a book of evil. Zis has all my important medical notes."

The Scout looked skeptically out of the corner of his eye.

"I totally got my doubts..."

Brushing the comment aside, the Medic just sniffed and resettled into the couch before flipping through the pages of his notebook until he found the page he left off on. Frowning at the ugly black line now marring the page, the Medic did his best to ignore it and keep writing. However, before he resumed his original writings, he quickly scribbled a side note in the margin reminding him to switch out the coffee for decaf.

"Vhatever you say...Just go back to your talk of your Nixon fellow."

During the whole noisy interruption, Heavy did not or chose not to hear any of it. He simply finished off his sandwich and was now popping the olive in his mouth. There was a satisfied noise from him as he leaned back and patted his stomach.

"So, who is Nixon person and vy is so much talk about him?"

The Engineer finished taking a long sip from his beer before answering.

"Nixon wants to be the president."

He made sure to keep it straight and simple. The Scout had a hard enough time keeping up with his staggering intellect, Engineer did not know what the Heavy could understand. He was great on the battlefield, but he had yet to prove himself the superior in the intellectual field.

"Okay, so who is president now?"

Scout swirled his cup of coffee and answered before sucking the rest of it down in a couple of gulps.

"Johnson."

Heavy scratched his stomach and looked thoughtfully up at the ceiling.

"Is good president?"

"No." "Yes." "Mmp."

There was a slight look of confusion on his face when he received three simultaneous answers. However, before he could ask for further information, the three answers set off a new debate.

"What are ya talkin' about? How's he a good president? Look at Vietnam."

Scout leaned forward and set the empty mug on the coffee table in front of him while the Engineer remained reclining but pointed his bottle towards Scout.

"'Nam is an integral skirmish and good 'ole Johnson comprehends that."

"Mmph mmp mmmf, mmpsh."

Both Scout and the Engineer looked surprised at Pyro's stunning insight. Engineer was the first to collect himself.

"A solid point there. Still, we ain't gonna tuck tail and run now. News says we're advancing-"

"Advancing my ass, 'cause yeah, ya can sure trust the news to give ya true information."

To emphasize his sarcasm, the Scout dramatically rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

"And for makin' progress or any other kind of bullshit, yeah, that Tet offensive sure showed them."

While they were going on about their war, that really did not concern them at this venture, Medic, meanwhile, was trying his hardest to ignore them. He could go to his room, but then, he was comfortable. Why should he have to move when he was there first? In actuality, he found it ironic that they were arguing over a distant war while they were in the middle of their own, less than admirable fight. Then again, what did he care? His country was still trying to put itself back together, and apparently failing, according to news he heard through the grapevine.

"Hey man, do not dis the Red Sox!"

How the hell did they get from the Vietnam War to a baseball team? Medic was simply at a loss as to what he should think. He looked over at the Heavy who was watching the three great debaters with curiosity and confusion.

"I am merely asseverating that-"

"Ooh! Ooh! Is my favorite song!"

All heads turned to face the Heavy who was eagerly pointing at the radio. A simple guitar melody filtered through followed by the voices of Simon and Garfunkel. Heavy began singing, completely oblivious to the others, to the tune of "Hello, Mrs. Robinson."

Everybody in the room just stared blankly at him not quite sure what they should say. The debate was forgotten and now they were just sitting there listening to their heavy weapons specialist belt out the words to the song. As they were sitting in stunned silence, the Soldier suddenly walked in. He tilted his head curiously at Heavy before taking the rocket launcher he always kept strapped to his back and strumming it like a guitar. Then, there were two voices singing loudly. Medic slapped his notebook against his forehead.

"Make zem stop. For the love of all zat is good, make zem stop!"

No sooner did those words leave his mouth when the song suddenly cut off. Heavy drifted off in his singing and pointed at the radio.

"Where did song go?"

Instead of the melodious sound of Simon and Garfunkel, a generic newscaster voice blared out.

"_This just in. Recent news from the front lines, South Vietnam and the marines are holding off the renewed attacks of the Vietcong. The Quyet Thang regiment has just surrendered. Though there were some casualties, it was a major blow to the Vietcong forces."_

The report finished and once again, "Hello, Mrs. Robinson" came on. Heavy resumed singing. However, this time, the others were prepared for it and just ignored him. Engineer slapped his thigh happily with a "Yee-haw!"

"Hear that pardner? Shows you that all's quiet on the ranch."

Scout scoffed at him and resumed his crossed arm and slouched position on the couch.

"Sure, one success and they think it makes up for the rest of the shit mess they made? And 'some' casualties? Pfff, yeah right."

"Don't you dare question our military might, Soldier!"

The Scout practically jumped out of his seat when the Soldier yelled right into his ear.

"What the frickin' hell, man?!"

Twirling his rocket launcher around and slamming the butt of it on the ground, he saluted.

"Those Soldiers need all the support they can get! We got to push back those Vietcong maggots or else America will never see rice again!"

"Uhhh..." Scout's mouth hung open in disbelief before frowning and giving the Soldier a wary glance. "'Kay, I don't think that's the main cause of this fight and I'm pretty sure rice comes from other parts of Asia."

In three large, angry strides, the Soldier was right up in the Scout's face and poking him in the chest with his finger.

"Don't you question me, Maggot! It's a zoo over there and if not that, a farm! Farms where they grow delicious, wholesome rice!"

Scout was leaning backwards in an attempt to get the Soldier out of his face. Before he completely bent backwards, he looked over at Pyro and Medic who were watching the scene in amusement.

"Don't just sit there and laugh. Do somethin' 'bout him! He's gonna blow us to high hell with that rocket launcher!"

Receiving no reply from those two, he turned to face the Heavy who was still enthralled in the song and was completely deaf to the outside world. Sighing in aggravation, Scout finally pushed the Soldier away who almost dropped his precious weapon when he stumbled backwards.

"Careful with that, Soldier! This here's my pride and joy! Took out more than enough of of the enemy troops!"

He held it up proudly for all to see. The Engineer leaned forward a bit to study it closer. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"So, I reckon you received your explosive implement when you agreed to the contract?"

"Affirmative! Along with the payment of seven hundred and fifty dollars."

Engineer nodded his head thoughtfully.

"I see. You should renegotiate. I, myself, am receiving eight hundred plus ten percent interest accruing in my account."

"Yeah, and I'm gettin' eight hundred too and V.I.P. Passes to every Red Sox game for the rest of my life!"

Soldier made a "hmm" noise before looking down at his rocket launcher with deep introspection.

"But that seven hundred keeps me armed as long as I want. So, I have no complaints."

He stood proudly as he said that and did not notice the Scout silently make the gesture of whacking his head with an object and then performing the crazy motion. There was a soft chuckle from the Engineer who shook his head and nodded towards the Pyro.

"How 'bout you?"

"Mmmp, mmm mmpsh mfphs."

Engineer let out a long, impressed whistle.

"That's impressive."

"Mm mnmf."

Sagely nodding his head, Pyro crossed his arms and leaned back in satisfaction, or at least, what they assumed was satisfaction.

"Mmf mmphm mmphm?"

During the whole conversation, Medic had been ignoring them all as he was too busy making notes about what ways he wanted to experiment during the next fight. If things went according to his plan, he should be able to get a new test subject, otherwise known as the opposing team's spy. The sneaky little bastard was going to get his if it was the last thing the Medic did. However, that did not mean he was oblivious to the conversation, unlike a certain someone who was still playing sing along.

The Scout walked over to his seat and once again plopped down next to the Medic. This time, Medic was waiting for it and held his pen away from the paper. Violating his personal space, the Scout leaned to the side to try and glance at the notebook. Medic used his hand to shove the Scout's face away leaving the speedy dummkopf laughing.

"Yeah Doc. What do ya get outta all this?"

Medic had resumed writing when the Scout asked the question. Not giving much thought to it, he casually shrugged his shoulders.

"Five hundred and total amnesty."

There was a dead silence, which was actually enough to draw everybody's attention, including the Heavy's. Medic looked to his side at the Scout who had a blank look on his face and then very slowly scooted away from him. Who knows what the Pyro was thinking since nobody could see his face, and the Engineer had his bottle half way to his lips but was frozen in that position. Even Soldier stared at him blankly.

Very slowly, they stood up and quietly filed out of the room leaving a grinning Medic behind. At last, he was able to make them leave and was now able to record his notes in relative silence. Only the Heavy was left who had finished singing. Currently, he was staring at the Medic before breaking out into a grin and laughing. Medic looked up quizzically and slightly concerned at the Heavy. He cocked an eyebrow in question, fearing what he would hear.

"Hahaha! You too, Doctor?"

Medic, once more, slapped his face and dragged his hand down.

"...Unglaublich..."

* * *

**A/N:** So this one stemmed from a conversation I had with the same friend who dragged me into the twisted world of TF2. :D Thus, this is dedicated to Titanium Phoenix. Hope you enjoy it, mein freund. There is Medic love(?). So, yeah, that online joke and even that spray about Medic being a nazi, had to come up somehow. So, was he a nazi or not? I can find plenty of reason for or against it. On a side note, he refers to himself as Ubermnsch, which was the Superman concept the Nazi's had or he's just crazy and technically, he's superman after activating ubercharge. Really, I think it comes down to preference and how you intrepret his official biography. Somehow, I imagine it didn't matter who it was, he just wanted to cut people with his ubersaw and probably got a few slaps on the wrist in his lifetime. ;P Was he serious or just getting rid of people? You decide. Whatever the case, my friend and I talked about it, I liked it, so I wrote it. Personally, I had fun with this one even though I had no idea what I was doing...

So the whole Vietnam thing was more or less random time frame reference. The in game calendar reads June 1968 which is the month of the second phase of the Tet Offensive. Also, as I'm sure you know, the war caused lots of protests and being TF2 guys from around the country, I'm sure they had fun political views if any. Boston is predominately a blue state so that's why Scout isn't happy with Nixon running for president while Texas and the Midwest are red states so Engineer is all for it and Soldier is just being crazy, nonsensical Soldier. "And that's what they call a zoo! Unless it's a farm." I love that part in the movie...As for why Simon and Garfunkel are playing, that song was really freakin' popular in '68. Why Heavy knows it, I know not, but he likes to sing. He sings those songs when guarding the payload, so maybe he likes to sing. Except, those are Russian classic/marching songs...not Simon and Garfunkel...That was just for my own twisted gratification. :P Wow...I just created a weird mental image to go with that...One last thing, the amount of money might not seem like that much but back in '68 it was quite a bit of money. But I'm also not good at the whole inflation thing so I really only have my guesstimation powers...Anyhoo, I think that's it for that one. Let me know what you thought and I hope you enjoyed it!

Dummkopf-Stupid head Unglaublich-Unbelievable

By the by, if anybody has anything they would like to see written, by all means, let me know. I'm open. Have a good week!


	3. Weed

It was almost complete and it would be perfect. He used his scissors to make precise cuts along the dotted line he had previously drawn out. With a final snip, his masterpiece was completed. He held it up to scan it over and admire it. Spy smirked confidently.

"Damn I'm good."

His prized item was a circular piece of paper, the nice, heavy stock kind of paper, and on one side, the face of RED's medic was printed on it. While he was no Monet or Van Gogh, Spy had to admit he was a pretty damn good artist. As far as he was concerned, he captured all the necessary features that defined RED's medic, which was more than enough to be able to fool their team. Markers and colored pencils were scattered across his large metal table he called a desk and to the side was his tin of cigarettes.

"'Ey! Spy, you in there, mate?"

Spy looked towards the corner where the stairs leading up to the main living area were located. He leaned back in his chair and patted the pocket of his pants. His fingers could feel the contour of his trusty, and lethal, butterfly knife.

"I am down here."

Footsteps echoed against the concrete steps and the Spy listened, making sure he knew exactly where the steps were coming from. Though the basement of their living quarters was not gigantic, it was larger than what was on the surface and it took a few moments before Sniper strolled in.

Most people would have walked right up to him and be all friendly, but the members of BLU knew that was not a wise thing to do with Spy. So, Sniper stood at the opposite end of the table with his arms crossed. Seeing as Sniper kept his distance and was too far away to try anything, Spy deemed him a non-hostile.

"What can I do for you?"

"Well, it's about supper time and I was gonna fire up the barbie. I was wondering if you had a meat preference...Oh, are you making another mask? Looks pretty good, mate."

He pointed to the newly made mask lying on the table while Spy enjoyed the praise he just received. Spy nodded his head and gave his thank as he picked it up. Not really talking to anybody in particular, Spy started rambling, now completely ignoring Sniper who was still standing in the same position waiting for an answer.

"Yes...it is perfect. They'll never see it coming...Heh heh...I am going to gut them all like cornish game hens!"

A malicious cackle of glee escaped the Spy causing Sniper to rub the back of his neck nervously. To be honest, Spy was the creepiest one to be around. He was sophisticated, polite, and a good support in battle, but socially awkward. Perhaps it had something to do with his profession. He was wary of everybody he met and was more or less paranoid about everything and everybody. Thinking it would be best to just leave him be, since Spy was obviously enjoying himself, Sniper just sighed.

"Soooo, I'll just put you down for chicken."

He waited a few seconds to see if that got a response out of the Spy, but all he received in reply was a non-committal grunt. Softly shaking his head, he just walked back the way he came and climbed the stairs. When his footsteps died away, Spy finally realized he was alone again. He shrugged his shoulders and set the mask back on the table. Not overly concerned with how he answered Sniper, Spy knew whatever it was, it would taste good. If there was one thing he knew the Aussie could do well, it was turn people's heads into colored rain and make a good barbecue.

"Yo Spy!"

His once peaceful thoughts of massacring the entirety of RED were shattered when he heard a very distinct voice echo throughout the room. There was a small twitch in his hand as it slowly made its way to the butterfly knife. As he was doing that, however, the Scout came running in.

Completely unknown to him, Spy wondered why Scout could never calmly walk into a room or quietly say hello. He always burst in at full speed and was the loudest person around. Also, out of all the team members, Scout was the only one who did not follow Spy's simple rules to avoid being stabbed. Unlike Sniper who kept his distance and minded his surroundings, Scout came right up next to him and immediately violated Spy's personal space. While he could stab the Scout and just have Medic heal him later, he was tired from slaving away over his mask and settled for grabbing the nearest heavy object and throwing it in Scout's face. If he was another Spy, he would change back, and if he really was Scout, then he would have the satisfaction of having thrown something at him.

"Holy freakin' hell! Did you just throw a sapper in my face?!"

Scout was holding his face with one hand and waving one of Spy's electro-sappers angrily in the air. This evening was turning out to be fantastic. However, having a large chunk of metal chucked into his face was not going to deter Scout who just tossed the device to the side and walked back over to Spy. As he did, Spy went about cleaning up his supplies.

"So what did we learn?"

"You suck."

This caused the Spy to smirk ever so slightly, but then, he switched to more serious topics.

"What have you been told about coming here?"

Looking thoughtfully up at the ceiling, Scout rubbed his chin for a few seconds before answering.

"Don't come down to see you without an adult?"

Spy paused in the middle of gathering his markers to look questioningly at Scout who shrugged.

"What? Pyro told me that...and also Hard Hat...Oh wait, or do you mean the whole 'don't get close, don't touch anything, don't look, don't breathe' rule ya told me a while back?"

"Yes. That one."

Spy finished putting the coloring utensils in their appropriate cases in a particular order as he waited for Scout to comprehend the point he was trying to make.

"Rules were made to be broken and in particular, yer rules suck."

Of course it would be too much to ask for Scout to obediently follow the simple instructions he was given. Spy resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in irritation. Taking a deep breath and counting to ten, he finally opted to take a more direct approach.

"Get the hell out."

"But I came down here for a reason. Trust me, I ain't gonna mess with a creep like you unless I absolutely got to."

Scout was now sitting in the previously occupied chair and tapping his foot. The rapid sound made Spy cringe. Since his job required him to be stealthy, quiet, and patient, somebody like the Scout who was always moving or twitching was the most annoying person on earth. Actually, if there was one person he loathed to imitate, it was a Scout. RED's scout was very similar. Fast and annoying. It took so much energy and he understood why Scout consumed so much coffee. Anyways, it was probably just better if he listened to what the Scout wanted and be done with it.

"What do you want?"

"Uhhh...I forget now..."

Slapping a hand in his face, Spy finally reached his limit. He grabbed the metal tin of cigarettes and popped it open. He ran his finger over them but paused when he reached a certain one. Pulling it out, he forced it into Scout's hand and began shooing him towards the stairs.

"H-hey, whatcha doin'? I don't really smoke or nuthin' and-"

"I don't care. Smoke, be free. Leave."

When he managed to finally push Scout into the hallway, Spy slammed the door closed and locked it. Now he could get some peace and quiet until his barbecue was ready.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the door, Scout was confused as to how he wound up in the hallway so fast and why he was holding one of Spy's cigarettes. He was being truthful wen he said he didn't smoke, but he was curious and it is not like his mother was around to scold him for it. Besides, it was one of Spy's precious cigarettes and why should he let it go to waste? The man was very particular about his cigarettes and never let anybody near them. So, now that he got a hold of one, and not by stealing it, Scout was going to try it out.

He would have to go find Pyro if he wanted to light it considering he did not carry lighters on him. As he walked down the hallway towards Pyro's room, he sniffed the small object and crinkled his nose at the smell. It reminded him of burnt rubber or something. Whatever the case, he reached Pyro's door and went inside, not bothering to knock.

"Yo Pyro, gotta lighter I can use?"

He walked in to see the Pyro checking the propane tank attached to his flamethrower and looked up when Scout entered. Pyro nodded and walked over to the dresser where a light blue purse with a big daisy on it sat. Nobody really asked why Pyro had such a thing, but really, they were kind of reluctant to ask just because they did not want to insult him and get lit on fire or in most cases, it was not there business and they really did not want to know. Either way, Pyro rummaged through it a bit before pulling out a silver lighter.

"Mmp mm mmf mm mpfh?"

Scout held up the cigarette and explained how he received it from Spy. Pyro walked over and examined the stick.

"Mmmph mm mp mmphf mmph."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm gonna smoke it outside. And what d'ya mean be careful? I ain't gonna hurt myself."

"Mmph mmf mmm."

He scratched his head at Pyro's words.

"What do _you_ mean by 'that not what I meant'?"

Pyro just shrugged him off and went back to examining the propane tank. Scout left the room with the newly acquired lighter and headed for the backyard. When he stepped outside, he was greeted by the Sniper who was standing over the barbecue poking some meat with a long fork.

"Whatcha got there, mate?"

He looked over his shoulder at Scout who had the stick in his mouth and was currently trying to get the lighter to actually light.

"Spy gave me one of his cigarettes. I'm tryin' it."

"He did now? Well, just watch it. Though, a little experimenting never hurt anybody."

Finally, Scout was able to get a spark and when he held down the gas button, he was unprepared when a giant pillar of flame shot upwards and practically singed his eyebrows off. He quickly held it away from himself while Sniper just broke out into a fit of laughter.

"What the hell, man?!"

"Hahahaha...hahaha!!"

Sniper shook his head and watched Scout of the corner of his eye. He tentatively brought the pillar of flame closer to his face until the end of the cigarette was burning. Even though he had never smoked before, Scout knew the basic idea behind lighting one. While the end was in the flame, he inhaled a little bit until the end was sufficiently lit. Of course, not knowing what to expect, he inhaled a little deeper than was necessary and immediately removed the cigarette from his mouth so he could cough up a lung. Once again, this cause Sniper to burst out laughing. He was getting bored just watching meat cook. Now he had entertainment.

"Careful there, mate. Might not want to take that deep a breath 'til you're used to it...hahaha..."

Scout shot Sniper a dirty look before finally being able to breath again. He rubbed the water from his eyes with the back of his hand before carefully placing the stick back in his mouth. Though he would never admit it, he took Sniper's advice and was careful to only inhale a little bit. The taste that filled his mouth and throat still stung a little bit, but he found that he was still able to breath. After studying the taste in his mouth a little bit, he exhaled a small cloud of smoke.

"Huh, not so bad..."

"Congrats on your first puff, mate."

Sniper shook his head with a smile as he went back to grilling the meat. Seeing as Scout had the right idea, he felt it safe to assume nothing was going to burn down and Scout was not going to suffocate. As he was dealing with the meat, the smell of the cigarette smoke wafted his way. Now, he was not one to care about smoking, he had done it himself on more than one occasion, but this smell intrigued him. Out of all the cigarette brands he had ever sampled, none of them were like this. In addition to the odd smell, Scout was oddly quiet and not running around the yard. Suddenly growing suspicious, Sniper turned around, completely ignoring the meat, to locate Scout.

"Oh buggers..."

Sitting on the floor and reclining against the side of a tree was Scout. However, unlike his usual behavior, he was completely relaxed and happily tilting his head back and forth. Sniper quickly checked to make sure the meat was not going to burn before quickly jogging up to Scout.

As he approached, the sweet smell grew stronger and Sniper took his akubra off to fan away the haze of smoke. Extending an arm, Sniper tapped Scout's shoulder. Instead of swatting the hand away or yelling about violation of personal space, Scout just slowly tilted his head so he was looking up at Sniper with a lazy grin.

"'Sup?...This shit...yeah...I don't think it's normal...Hee hee..."

"Yeah. I see that."

It was certainly different to hear Scout talk so slowly and with a slurred drawl. He cackled a little bit more before taking a really deep puff from the stick. Sniper watched slightly unsure as Scout was slow to exhale. Upon examining what he now knew was a joint, he saw that it was much shorter now.

"Alrighty, mate. I think that's enough. C'mon, give it 'ere."

He held out his hand, palm upturned, wanting Scout to give him the joint, however, Scout just looked dumbly at his hand, then at his own hand, and finally giving Sniper a five. Sniper sighed and Scout giggled. Realizing it was pointless to try and talk sense with him, Sniper reached over to try and grab the joint but was stopped when Scout kept pushing his face away and holding the joint as far away as possible. Sniper's sunglasses were slipping down his nose as he tried to reach the joint just out of reach.

As they were struggling, the door opened and the Heavy stepped out.

"Ooh, you are playing game, yes?"

Sniper had to yell over his shoulder.

"No! Not a game...Aargh, just make sure the meat isn't burnt!"

Heavy watched the two struggle on the ground for a little bit before looking over at the meat. By now, the meat was cooked and Heavy decided he should point it out.

"Meat is ready Sniper."

He just pointed to the grill while Sniper was still struggling to get the joint away from Scout. Not really wanting to rely on Heavy to finish things up, he really had no choice.

"Fine, just be a good bloke and put it...gah...on the plate and...oomph...take it inside!"

Sniper did not have time to watch and make sure everything was done right. After a few more minutes of struggling, Scout finally made a mistake. In his drug induced stupor, he was going to take another puff, but when he brought it just a little bit closer to himself, Sniper yanked it from his grasp and stood victoriously.

"Mmm, gimme!"

Scout was still on the ground and reached up pathetically. Sniper shook his head and grabbed Scout's upper arm to yank him up. When he got Scout standing, he directed Scout towards the indoors, checking the grill on the way in. It appeared that Heavy did a fine job getting the meat away from the fire and even extinguishing the grill. Satisfied with that, Sniper finally dragged Scout inside, who was now mumbling incoherently, and sat him down at the dining table. The others were already there and everybody looked up curiously at Sniper and Scout, especially Scout.

"So ze little scheiße is high like a kite."

Sniper gave Medic a reproving glare but all he received in return was a smug grin. Finally, Sniper was able to sit down and divvy up the meat. When he plopped the chicken onto Spy's plate, he shook his head. Spy just shrugged.

"What? I didn't know."

"Bloody liar..."

Only Scout heard his mumbling but was a little too far away mentally to care. Instead, he was happily poking at his steak, but not eating a thing. However, he was, for once, completely silent, save for the few random giggles. Despite Scout being high at the dinner table, conversations went on as usual with Sniper glancing over at Scout at random intervals. Medic seemed to notice what he was doing and commented with a smirk.

"Don't vorry. A little veed never hurt anybody. Unless zere is a fight, I vote ve alvays keep ze dummscheiße doped up."

Scout giggled at the funny sounding word while Sniper shook his head and sighed as all the hands at the table raised simultaneously.

* * *

**A/N:** So my reasoning behind Spy having weed is because he's so freakin' calm when he gets lit on fire. You have to be fairly doped up to calmly tell somebody you just spontaneously combusted. Also, how else do you fool the other team with just that mask? The answer, smoke weed, or perhaps something stronger, and people are high enough to not notice the piece of paper strapped to his face. Or, this could all be some weird idea I got when I was talking with a fellow classmate about the chemical composition of weed and the physiological effects it has on the human body. Fun stuff. Anyways, this was just an excuse to get Spy and Sniper some screen time. Sniper is so hot...Ahem, anyways, I hope you enjoyed the story and let me know if you have any questions, comments, concerns, complaints, other words starting with 'c'. Oh yeah, scheiße means shit in German in case you didn't know. Happy TF2 fighting!


	4. Hotdogs are Delicious

"I'm bored."

"I don't care."

"…I'm bored."

"Do you vant to die?"

"If it makes it not so boring."

Medic glared over the top of the book and contemplated all the ways he could follow through with his threat. Sitting across from him at the kitchen table was the Scout who was draped across the tabletop doing nothing. Well, that was inaccurate. He was being an annoyance. However, it was a different type of annoyance than he usually was. Scout was usually running about the place yelling at the top of his lungs and being annoying. Now, he was doing nothing but complaining and being annoying.

At least when he was running around, he would leave after losing interest. In this instance though, he just lingered. Medic could not get rid of him. Why he chose to haunt his existence, he did not know. All he did know was that Engineer needed to get back with the groceries, namely the caffeinated coffee, stat. They ran out and Medic thought it would calm the Scout down. He just did not consider Scout stalking him and telling him how bored he was. After a whole day of this, Medic was ready to dig through his medicine cabinet and drug the Scout into oblivion. Unfortunately, Sniper happened across him when he had been rummaging around and guessed what he was up to. Then, Medic had to listen to a lecture on being professional. All in all, he was about to screw professionalism and euthanize the Scout.

"I'm bored."

"Let me put you out of your misery."

If Scout was looking up, and not at the tabletop, he would have seen a dangerous glint in Medic's eye. Of course, before Medic could reach into his pocket and pull out a shot with certain chemicals, another loud voice boomed through the kitchen.

"Where the hell are me booze?!"

Had the Demoman had his entire peripheral vision, he could have easily ducked. But of course, missing one of his eyes made seeing things on his blind side extremely difficult. As a result, a heavy book collided with his head. Medic stood up and stormed out of the room.

"Vhy can't any of you just shut the hell up?! You!" Medic pointed at Demo. "He's your problem."

With that, Medic grabbed his book from the floor and stormed out of the room in a hurry. Demo watched him leave, not sure as to why Medic was so upset, though he could guess it had something to do with the Scout who was still mumbling into the tabletop.

"I'm bored."

"You and me both, boyo."

He plopped into another chair and began drumming his fingers on the tabletop. Normally, he would start ranting at him about being annoying, but in reality, he was just as bored. They just sat at the table, one mumbling, another learning that his sense of rhythm left something to be desired.

"I'm bored."

"Aye…I wish I had me booze and a fine woman."

Scout slightly shifted in his seat when he heard the word, "woman." He was male after all. However, he knew it was pointless to dwell on it too long.

"Yeah, but there ain't any women around here."

"A cryin' shame."

They drifted off into silence before Scout suddenly sat up and pounded the table.

"Seriously! Why the hell is it such a sausage fest in here?!"

"Sausage? I already told you I'd grill some hot dogs up."

Both the Demoman and the Scout looked over at the Sniper who was holding a plate piled with freshly grilled steaks. He set the plate on the table and nudged the shoulder of Scout who grudgingly stood up and sluggishly walked to the cabinets to pull out a set of plates. While he more or less tossed the plates onto the table, Demo managed to get off his rear side and grab the hotdog buns from the bread drawer and toss them on the table.

"Now I don't want 'em after that…"

Sniper handed Scout a hotdog and cocked an eyebrow when Scout stared at the piece of meat with a semi-disgusted expression.

"What's this now, eh? You were the one who wanted hotdogs in the first place."

A deep sigh escaped the Scout and a low chuckle came from the Demoman. Sniper switched his gaze from one to the other curiously while he took a bite out of his own hotdog.

"I mean, do ya ever think about the lack of women here?...And now we're eatin' hotdogs."

Now a snort escaped Demoman. He picked up his own hotdog and held it out at arms length as he examined it.

"Who d'ya think decided ta make 'em this shape?"

"I know, right?"

Sniper had his halfway in his mouth and before taking a bite, he suddenly paused. His mind suddenly processed what they were talking about and he pulled the hotdog away from his mouth with a slightly chagrined expression.

"Mate's, could we not?"

That caused Scout and Demo to start laughing. Sniper shook his head and picked up the hotdog again. He was a professional and childish rambling was not something that should affect him. With all the determination he could manage, he took a single, albeit small, bite out of the meat. It took all his might not to lunge across the table with his kukri and take off two heads who were chuckling in a low tone not too uncommon for young boys talking about something dirty.

"Way to take charge with the sausage, _mate_."

Scout and Demoman started laughing again. However, Sniper was above it all and once again, mustered all his determination to continue eating. He shot Demo a withering glare before he could say anything and was suddenly happy to see Soldier marching in. Surely he would be the buffer between Sniper and the idiots.

"What's all the racket, maggots?"

"We were just talking about how there's a sausage fest here and Sniper really enjoys sausage."

Demoman snickered but suddenly found his face colliding with the tabletop. He had the misfortune of sitting right next to Sniper who had the perfect distance for slamming people's heads into tables.

"Of course he likes sausage. What man doesn't?"

Sniper visibly cringed when Soldier spoke. This just sent Scout and Demoman into a new wave of hysterics. Soldier seemed perplexed about what was so funny, but nonetheless, he sat himself down and grabbed for his own hotdog. Meanwhile, Scout and Demoman's hotdog sat untouched on their plates.

"Ya didn't seem like the type to go for the sausage."

Forget coffee and booze, Scout and Demoman just found something to pass some time. They watched Soldier take a giant bite out of his hotdog and happily munch on it. Demoman leaned forward with a sly grin.

"Way ta take that sausage in yer mouth."

"A real man takes in as much as he can."

"I'm sure he does."

Scout could barely talk without laughing. This earned him an odd look from Soldier who continued to finish off his hotdog with gusto. As he finished and was reaching for another hotdog, the resident pyromaniac entered the kitchen in the pursuit of delicious sausage.

"Mmph?"

"Oh, hey Pryo. We're just talkin' about how this place is too much of a sausage fest…even though these yahoos seem to really like 'em."

Despite his valiant efforts to send venomous glares to Scout, Sniper was easily ignored. While Soldier was polishing off his hotdog, Sniper was still trying to finish his first. He nodded curtly to Pyro as he attempted to block out the idiotic noise. Pyro grabbed a hotdog, set it on a plate, and exited the kitchen.

"Mmph mp mmpf!"

"My sentiments exactly mate. Shut the 'ell up!"

Sniper glared pointedly at Scout and Demoman who promptly shut up, but it was obvious they were still trying to keep from laughing. However, it was short lived.

"Aw, lighten up, Koala Joe. Ya can't deny that it really is a sausage fest in here."

"Mm, I like sausage lots!"

Sniper pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew where this was going and the worst part was the newest addition to their conversation would make it worse without even knowing it. Demoman pulled out a chair for the Heavy and patted him on the back.

"Aye, that you do. Now 'ow aboot we get you some sausage."

Heavy trundled over to the table and rubbed his hands together eagerly.

"Smells good. My compliments to the chef."

Sniper absently waved his hand in acknowledgement and stared forlornly at the half eaten hotdog on his plate.

"Yeah, well, ya know how Sniper likes his sausage."

At this point, Sniper was thinking about giving up and leaving the room like Pyro did, however, his professional pride would not allow him to concede to the likes of Scout and Demoman. So, he gathered up his resolve and picked up his hotdog again.

"Da, Sniper makes good sausage."

There was a brief moment of silence and during that pregnant pause; Sniper cursed Heavy for his simple-minded commentary. He was just waiting for the commentary to start, but of course, it could not be that easy.

"Vhat are you two dummkopfs laughing at? And vhy are you going on about a sausage fest? I did not think America had one."

Scout smirked and shrugged.

"Apparently we do now."

Medic frowned when Scout and Demoman burst into hysterics. Heavy, Soldier, and Medic were confused as to why reconstituted meat was so hilarious. He looked to Sniper for some clarification but received none because Sniper was clenching and unclenching his fists and looked as if he was going to hyperventilate.

"Vhat are you even talking about?"

Demoman pointed to Heavy who was still happily, and noisily, munching on his hotdog.

"He was just tellin' us how he liked Sniper's sausage."

Of course, Scout started a new round of laughter. During this whole ordeal, Heavy just remained oblivious and Sniper still had a sliver of determination left. He picked up his hotdog again and was going to take another bite when Heavy opened his mouth to talk.

"Da, Sniper's sausage is good. But I like Medic's sausage too."

"Of course you like my sausage. I am German. I know my sausage."

Scout and Demo broke into another loud peal of laughter while Sniper just threw his hotdog onto his plate and stood up.

"Bloody 'ell!...Never again…I can never eat a hotdog again."

Everybody just watched as Sniper stormed out of the kitchen in the midst of raucous laughter. When he disappeared, Scout was going to say something but was interrupted by the appearance of Spy who was calmly standing in the corner of the kitchen eating a hotdog. Nobody knew at what point he showed up and grabbed a hotdog. They just knew he was doing that creepy appearing thing and looked far too amused. He popped the last bite of hotdog in his mouth and wiped his mouth with a napkin. Tossing the napkin in the garbage, Spy carelessly sauntered out of the kitchen and smirked.

"I guess all our sausage was too much to take."

* * *

**A/N:** I am so tired right now and I was so tired when I wrote this. Sorry if it isn't as up to par as my previous chapters. Hopefully it's still fun to read. This was a request by one of my reviewers who brought up the point that there were no women and it would totally be Scout to bring up why it was such a sausage fest. I had fun with it and it really fit with the miscommunication theme. Either way, there were a lot of "that's what she said" moments when I was writing this. TitaniumPhoenix knows what I'm talkin' about. :D And poor Sniper. He became the martyr of this story. He just wanted to enjoy his hotdog in peace. Anyways, it took a while to update, but hopefully with school coming to an end next month, updates can come faster. Just like before, any ideas or anything you want to see written, drop me a line and I'll see what I can do. I'm open to suggestions. :) Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed!


	5. Boomerang You

"I am going and zat is final!"

One would not assume he was a middle aged man if they were to hear that comment and see the way he crossed his arms and stomped his foot like a petulant child. However, at the moment, that was exactly what he looked like. To say the least, however, he did cut an imposing figure when he did that. Then again, his intimidating presence could likely be because he was responsible for keeping the entire team alive in the midst of battle. His indirect control over the teammates' lives was a good enough motivation for them to respect his wishes. Besides, nobody wanted to wind up a twisted heap of a medical experiment either. So in the end, what Medic demanded, Medic got.

Of course, if Medic was going, his faithful and large sidekick, Heavy Weapons Guy, would be tagging along too. Plus, there was the added bonus of getting a sandwich out of the excursion. It was often his reward for being the pack mule. Homemade sandwiches were delicious, never would he say otherwise, but sometimes, he enjoyed the taste of a restaurant one with all the extras. Medic may call it a caloric catastrophe, Heavy called it delicious.

"Aye, I'm going too. You laddies don't know proper whiskey."

As if to reiterate his point, Demoman took a giant swig from the bottle he was clutching with one hand and finished it off with a flourish. With a loud, alcohol-tinged belch, causing the Medic to grimace and step farther away, Demo haphazardly chucked the bottle behind him, but instead of the sound of shattering glass, there was a loud clunking noise, and then the sound of shattering glass. Granted, the bottle did not break into as many pieces as it could have had it not ricocheted off of the Soldier's helmet. Speaking of which, Soldier was currently trying to figure out why he was under attack and whipped out his trench shovel with a yell.

"Aaaah! Battle stations, maggots! Quick, use the couch as a barrier! Grab a cushion, men! The enemy is upon us!"

The others watched as the man dove over the back of the nearby couch, and then tucked and rolled when he landed on the other side. Medic slapped the palm of his hand over his face and heaved a deep, deep sigh. Coming in at the moment Soldier decided to barricade himself behind a couch, was a gas mask wearing man, or woman, as it has been proposed by the others, who obviously noticed Soldier clutching a couch cushion and surveying the room suspiciously.

"Mmmph, mmp?"

"I don't know…I don't vant to know…"

That was the only answer Medic could give to Pyro's muffled question. At this point, the Soldier threw another cushion at Pyro, fully intending to share in his defense; however, Pyro was unaware of this. As a result, he, or she, picked up the cushion that bounced off his, or her, flame retardant, full-bodied suit and threw it back at Soldier who was caught off guard by the counter attack. He stared, baffled as to why his offered defense was rejected.

"Mmph, mm mpf."

With a final accusatory point at Soldier, Pyro waltzed off as well as a person who dressed like him, or her, could. Then he or she turned to Medic and listed off several items of which Medic duly noted.

"Ja, ja. Propane, matches, hair spray, and Cheetos….Vait, Cheetos?"

While it was not any stretch of the imagination for another person to enjoy the crunchy, fake cheese-y snack, Medic just had a hard time imagining Pyro munching on them underneath that mask. Or perhaps it just did not fit in his mind because the list was so incongruous? But he need not have dwelled on it for Pyro was conscientious enough to clarify before leaving the room.

"Mm mp mm mmmph."

Well, that certainly made much more sense now. Seeing as the Cheetos were for Engineer, Medic was much more at mental peace. Now that the Cheetos issue was resolved, Medic was growing impatient with all the interruptions and noise. He made a final call.

"If any of you dummkopfs vant anyzing, speak now or never talk to me again!"

When he was met with only silence and the suspicious stare of Soldier, Medic decided it was as good as any time to leave. He marched out of the room and towards the exit down the hall, Demo and Heavy hot on his heels.

After they left, Soldier finally suppressed his irrational paranoia and set the couch cushion back in its rightful place. While he did this, another man casually strolled in and tipped his akubra in greeting to Soldier. As he did, the man noticed the broken bottle on the floor and scratched his head.

"Eh, what happened here, mate?"

Soldier looked at the broken bottle on the floor that Sniper was currently pointing to and shrugged nonchalantly.

"An attack, that's what! Always be on guard there, Soldier, or else you'll find yourself on the short end of the stick."

With a salute of finality, Soldier marched out of the room to wherever it was he intended to go, leaving a slightly confused Sniper in his wake. He had no idea what a broken bottle had to do with an attack of a short stick, or whatever it was Soldier was blathering on about. All he knew was that there was broken glass around and somebody could potentially get hurt. And if life were not ironic enough as is, Sniper heard rapid footsteps approach and before he could warn the owner of said footsteps, it was too late.

"Son of a bitch! #^$#*#(*$&^#%)!"

Sniper was always fascinated with how creative the youngest member of their rag tag team of crazy misfits was with generating series of expletives. Then again, that seemed to be the trend with today's youth. They were becoming so loose-lipped and unmindful of their elders. Not that Sniper would ever say he was old, but sometimes he did feel a little out of the loop when he conversed with Scout. He consoled himself when he learned the others also had a difficult time keeping up.

"Careful of that glass there."

Whether out of some sub-conscious spite or something else, Sniper felt the need to state the glaring obvious after the fact occurred. He was met with a resentful glare from Scout who was on the floor nursing his bleeding elbow. Had he been warned earlier, he would have jumped over the pile of glass. However, a certain somebody felt the need to mention it after he slipped on a piece and fell right on top of the shards. Sensing the accusation burning behind Scout's glare, Sniper just shrugged and smirked ever so slightly.

"Not my fault if you move too fast for me to tell ya, mate."

"Excuses! Dirty, stupid excuses! Psh, aw man…what the hell is a broken bottle doin' here anyways?"

Picking himself off the ground, Scout kept his hand on his elbow and examined it closer. There was still a shard of glass sticking in the skin right above the joint. The sight was worse than what he actually felt, but add the two together and Scout decided he was in pain. Then came the difficult question: did he leave it in or take it out? Had it been lower or a smaller shard, he would have just yanked the damn thing out. However, it was larger and it at least looked bad, so he was left standing there staring at his arm.

"Ya know, starin' at it isn't going to make it better."

Reappearing with a broom and the trashcan was Sniper who watched the Scout scowl at him. Needless to say, he was amused. But, wanting to spare his eardrums, Sniper bit down on any type of remark and quickly disposed of the broken bottle with a few careful sweeps into the trashcan.

"Yeah well…You suck and it hurts."

"Impressive. Quite the wit ya got there, kiddo."

"I ain't a 'kiddo', Captain Kangaroo."

Scout grumbled and skulked into the kitchen followed by Sniper who was calmly putting everything back in its place.

"So who is this Captain Kangaroo?"

It was not the first time Scout called him that, not that it bothered him much. The series of nicknames he received from Scout amused him more often than not. It was too bad Medic never approved of anything that Scout said. But he was not the only one. It was usually best to just ignore him. Of course, it was sometimes difficult to do considering the loud and annoying voice Scout had.

"Some guy with big pockets and does crap with puppets and stuff."

Sniper paused and cocked an eyebrow in curiosity.

"Wait, he's not a kangaroo?"

"No."

Well that was one of the most misleading names Sniper could think of naming an individual who was not an actual marsupial. Then he thought of something else.

"Is he Australian?"

Scout paused in the middle of grabbing a towel and looked thoughtfully up at the ceiling.

"Uuh, I don't think so…Nope, not Australian."

He shut the drawer towel drawer and walked over to the small kitchen table. Throwing the towel on the table, Scout plopped down onto a chair and began re-examining his arm and completely ignored the baffled expression on Sniper's face.

"So he's called Captain Kangaroo but he is neither a kangaroo nor Australian?...How the bloody 'ell does that work?"

"Don't look at me, I didn't come up with it…Besides, I think it has to do with his pockets…ya know, like a kangaroo pouch?"

Sniper was unsatisfied and did not buy that answer at all. If it was because of his pockets, why did they not call him "Captain Pockets" or something? Then again, there really was no logic behind children's shows he supposed. Instead, he found himself sitting across from Scout, watching in amusement as the latter attempted to take the glass out.

"Want a hand?"

"No."

The answer was a bit clipped and Sniper just shrugged and resumed watching the Scout squirm as he tried to get a good grip on the shard. He would begin to pull, then flinch, then curse, and then try again. At the moment, Sniper really had nothing better to do, so he just watched the free show.

Finally fed up with the rate of his success, or lack thereof, Scout sighed and glared at Sniper.

"Ya know what? If your just gonna sit there and stare, might as well help…or somethin'…please."

It was probably the most reluctant "please" Sniper had ever heard in his life. When he said it, Scout made a "hmph" noise and looked away. Shaking his head, Sniper scooted his chair closer and smirked.

"Bet your mum beat that one into you, eh?"

While Scout nodded his head, Sniper gripped the shard of glass and pulled as hard as he could, making sure to pull straight out.

"%$#^$^$^%#%&$#%$!!!"

Scout's hand flew up to where the piece of glass had been and shot a venomous glare at Sniper who held the bloodied shard of glass triumphantly. He examined the newly acquired piece, ignoring Scout who was currently holding the towel to his elbow.

Being careful as to not become contaminated by the dirtied piece of glass, Sniper carefully dropped it into the trashcan and for precaution's sake, washed his hands. When he looked over at Scout again, he was mummifying his arm with bandages that he pulled out of nowhere, or at least, that was how it seemed to Sniper. Then again, now that he thought about it, Scout did wear bandages during fights, so he probably had a stash somewhere on him.

"…I'm bored."

So close, he had been so close. Now that that was taken care of, Sniper was going to try and sneak away before Scout could even speak again. That was what he got for deluding himself with hopeful wishing.

Whenever Scout prefaced anything with, "I'm bored," it was sure to mean hell for anybody and everybody nearby. During battles with the other team, Scout was wired like a gerbil on speed. Outside of battles, Scout was like a hamster on LSD. It was no wonder that Medic always wanted to leave any chance he got.

Medic was a bit of a drama queen, but an irritable one at that, and for some unknown reason, Scout made it a habit to irritate him first, before moving on to his next target.

It was currently unknown as to whether or not the Scout intentionally tried to annoy them all or not. However, they were aware that some were often targeted more than others. Sniper had the good fortune of not being one of those. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Scout had, at one time, deemed him boring. Why, he was boring, Sniper did not know. All he knew about it was from an irritated Medic who saw fit to grace him with one of his rants.

"Sooo, whatcha doin'?"

Now he understood why Scout could come off as annoying. He was incessantly chattering about something or another, and it would not have been so bad had Sniper actually been able to follow his train of thought. Also, it would not have been so bad if Scout talked, then left. But no, he did not do that. He trailed behind Sniper wherever he went and pestered him with odd questions. He knew his home country held a certain mystique to it, but seriously, he was beginning to wonder just what Americans thought about Australia.

"Hey, you ever pet a wombat?"

"Shot one."

"Ever pet a kangaroo?"

"Shot a few."

"How about a dingo?"

"Shot a few of those too."

Scout stared at him, unbelief written all over his face.

"Do you shoot everything you see?"

Sniper turned his head and stared Scout down straight in the eye.

"Seriously contemplating it, mate."

He was unsure if Scout understood his subtext, but whether he did or did not, made no difference. He resumed his questioning right away.

"Can you throw a boomerang?"

"Yes…and no, not all Australians can throw a boomerang."

The brief look of disappointment on Scout's face was amusing. The idea that not all Australians were gun shooting, knife toting, boomerang slinging adventurers was a let down. Then again, he was not sure where Scout originally got that idea. Maybe he was the first Australian the Scout ever met and sure enough, he did satisfy all three.

"So you can at least throw one, right?"

Sniper was unsure as to how to translate Scout's sudden movement to lean forward. But Sniper could think fast on his feet and decided to run with it. There just might be hope yet.

"Sure…I actually got one. Want to try it out?"

"Hell yeah!"

There was a brief moment of jubilation on Sniper's part when he heard that. Wasting no time at all, Sniper hurriedly ran to his room and threw objects around haphazardly until he managed to find the curved piece of wood. Jogging back to where he left the Scout, he handed it over and nodded his head.

"How 'bout you go on back and try it out now, eh?"

Before he could even finish his sentence, Scout was off in a sprint to go try it out. Sniper watched him leave and did a triumphant fist pump in the air when he could no longer hear him. Heaving a sigh of relief, Sniper resumed his original task of polishing his kukri in peace and quiet.

After making his kukri glisten in the light, Sniper decided it would be a good time to clean his rifle. Since cleaning and polishing his weapons of death put him in such a good mood and the weather was so nice out, Sniper decided he would move his project outdoors. Plus, he was slightly curious as to how Scout was faring with the boomerang. It's not easy to learn on one's own and Sniper thought for sure Scout would have given up, but when he stepped outside, he was pleasantly surprised to see him still at it.

Finding the patio table randomly kept outdoors, Sniper set his stuff down and began cleaning while keeping an eye on Scout. Even though he was glad Scout was too busy with the boomerang, he was still wary of being hit by a stray boomerang. Whether it was thrown right nor not, a chunk of wood colliding with a head would hurt.

As he was cleaning his rifle, he watched the boomerang fly to one end of the yard followed by Scout, then fly to the other side followed again, by the Scout. This was some of the best entertainment he had had in a long time. In the midst of enjoying the general atmosphere, Sniper did not notice that another man had joined him in watching the scene until the newcomer spoke up.

"…What is he doing?"

The soft spoken, Texan accented voice sounded vaguely confused. Standing with his arms crossed was Engineer. His head turned back and forth as he watched Scout throw something, run over to it, throw the object again and run after it. Scout never deviated from the pattern.

"Thought I'd give him a little something to keep him occupied…until the good doctor comes back anyways."

Engineer chuckled. He was not unaware of the Scout's penchant for irritating Medic. Originally, he had been searching for Sniper for some reason or another, but was no completely distracted by Scout and the boomerang that he forgot what he wanted in the first place. Grabbing another chair, Engineer plopped into it and settled in to enjoy the change of pace.

"How long as he been at it?"

With a brief glance down at his watch, Sniper shrugged and guesstimated.

"I'd say about an hour or so."

There was a low whistle from the Engineer. He had to give Sniper some credit for being able to distract Scout for so long. Then again, he had never really seen Scout so determined to do something before. Odd how all it took to keep him distracted was a piece of wood. Had Engineer known that earlier on, he would have given the boy a stock pile of wood. Hell, he would even throw in a tool as a bonus if it would keep Scout occupied.

After a few minutes, Sniper and Engineer started a bet as to how much longer Scout would keep it up. However, their fun was abruptly cut short when the boomerang collided with something instead of just clunking to the ground like usual. Then suddenly, the Spy fazed into visibility as he fell to the ground unconscious. Scout had a look of absolute horror before slowly inching towards the body. As he did, he pulled out his trusty bat and stopped when he was about two feet away. He then leaned forward and nudged the Spy's body and quickly retreated a few feet the minute he did. But much to Scout's relief, Spy did nothing but remain face planted on the ground.

"Uh, guys...I think I broke our spy."

He looked over at Sniper and Engineer who wore blank expressions and sat quietly. They remained like that for a few minutes before Engineer and Sniper broke into unrestrained laughter. Engineer cackled and pointed at the prone body.

"Serves the cheap, sneaky jackass right."

"Couldn't agree more with ya, mate."

What Spy was doing, cloaked at that, nobody knew. The only thing Engineer and Sniper knew was that the one class that was a constant thorn in their side had just been leveled by a boomerang thrown by Scout. Even if their Spy never attacked them, just the idea of people sneaking around, backstabbing, and sapping machinery made them far less sympathetic with Spy.

"Vhat is going on here?...And vhat is Spy doing on ze floor?"

Scout raised his hand and then pointed at the boomerang in his other hand.

"I think I gave him a concussion with this."

"Is zat a…boomerang?"

Scout, Engineer, and Sniper all nodded in unison. Medic then turned his attention to Spy and then shrugged with an eerily happy grin.

"Fine. Vhen he vakes up, send him to my office. 'Till zen…just leave ze tricky bastard."

Medic turned on his heel and marched off to his office. Deciding it was best to go about his own business, Engineer also took his leave, not before looking at the unconscious Spy and cackling once again. Sniper sighed, locked all pieces of his weapon in place and also felt it best to leave while he still could. That just left Scout who was looking back and forth between the boomerang and Spy.

Not sure as to why he felt so uneasy, Scout looked around a bit before tip-toeing off to hide the weapon. Even though Spy was out cold, Scout still felt paranoid about him, so he quickly sprinted off to his room where he planned on staying for a while.

And thus, that was how they left Spy in the yard for the remainder of the day, sprawled out and unconscious.

* * *

**A/N:** It's been a while, hasn't it? I finally got some breathing room from school work and capturing wildlife to write something up. Hopefully, the next update shouldn't take so long. I now have a couple of ideas floating around, plus, I finally got my computer up and running Team Fortress 2 and have rekindled my passion. Thus, more TF2 goodness to come...And yes Phoenix, that's what she said. :D

Nothing of great import here, just some randomness. It's a bit longer than my other chapters since I spent so long on the details. Then again, how they would interact outside of the battlefield fascinates me. So I just found out about Captain Kangaroo not being a kangaroo or Australian. For the longest time I had always assumed something along the lines of a kangaroo, but let me tell you, I was shocked and dismayed to learn otherwise. And seriously, I have no idea why Spy would be running around cloaked in the yard. But you know what? I would be so happy if a boomerang was an unlockable weapon if they did a Sniper update. Well, let me know your thoughts, concerns,, questions, comments, ideas, random crap you want to talk about, and I hope you enjoyed the story. Yes, Soldier is crazy...he doesn't even try to hide it. :P


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